


Green Light

by heartstrings



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gay Porn Hard, M/M, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:32:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstrings/pseuds/heartstrings
Summary: Patrick knows two things: he likes sex and he likes Jonny. If Jonny's newly single there's no reason not to combine the two. Right?





	Green Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is my GPH offering to appease the hockey gods. I hope it works. Shout out to toewsyourheart, nuuclears, and thundersquall for looking this over and helping me out. <3

Patrick loves sex.

He loves everything about sex. The way it can be hard and fast and breathtaking. Other times it can be gritty and messy, absolutely filthy. How it can shift from something heated and primal to tender and slow. They way it always leaves this spine tingling, toe curling warmth that spreads all throughout his body and leaves him sated and usually sore.

He's pretty fucking baller at it too, for the record.

Once, he tried to make a list of all his favorite things about sex, but he ended up naming basically everything, he's not a picky guy. He loves sex. He loves having sex. With women, with men, and on one fantastical occasion, both.

Some people that don't know him, or do know him and are shitheads (Sharpy), tend to assume he's not very good at sex. Maybe it's because he looks young, that's true, he's only twenty, technically, he is young. Might be because he's pretty, which is also true, he's fucking gorgeous, and thank you for noticing. Possibly it could be because he's small, but fuck that, he's got amazing stamina and an even better dick, so put that worry to rest. He knows how to work his body and, more importantly, how to work his partner's body.

Women love his mouth. Or, maybe he should be more specific: women love his tongue. It's a good tongue, strong and long enough to lick all over her clit until she's a moaning, whining mess and asking for him to fuck her pussy. He will, first with his stellar tongue and then with his dick. He'll wait until she's spread out beneath him and clawing at the sheets, tits bouncing beautifully as she grinds on him before he'll fit two fingers back over that wet slick clit and rub her until she comes, screaming for more.

And men?

Men are even easier. Which is not to say that he has difficulty getting women, he has many admirers because, as mentioned earlier, he's a motherfucking winner. It's just that men are usually pretty upfront when they want him, and Patrick is usually happy to oblige. Sex. Is. Awesome. And he loves it all, honestly. Having a cock in his mouth, deepthroating that baby until his lungs burn and his eyes water is sexy as hell. Finding a guy that wants to get on all fours and beg Patrick to fuck him is mind-meltingly hot. Sinking into that tight, slick heat and grabbing onto his thick, round ass as Patrick thrusts into him makes his dick twitch every time he thinks about it. Sometimes they'll want to suck him off first, get him all dripping before he fucks their red, clinging holes. He likes to jack them off as he's fucking them, he's a considerate person that way, but he also loves to listen to the how they sound as they come, wrecked and undone and absolutely satisfied. Patrick knows that feeling well. He lives for that feeling.

It's only second to being on the ice after scoring, after winning a game, and owning his territory.

There's really nothing quite like that. Except for owning someone once they're inside _him_ , filling him up so perfectly.

And there’s no one he wants to own that way more than Jonny.

*

It’s unofficial St. Patrick’s Day the night everything happens. Unofficial because UND’s spring break historically runs during St. Patrick’s Day and nobody wants a day of drinking green beer and getting blitzed on campus to go to waste. So drinking starts early, goes all day long and into the night, and usually ends with greenish tinted vomit and gnarly hangovers. A truly grand time for all.

Sharpy, as team captain, has decided to hold the team festivities at his house across campus this year, Seabs and Duncs helping him decorate with mint green streamers and cutout images of the Lucky Charms leprechaun tacked to the walls.

“How’s it look?” Sharpy asks when Patrick arrives.

“It looks like a dump with green shit everywhere,” he says, laughing when Sharpy smacks at him.

“I should make you pay for your beer tonight, you ungrateful swine.”

Patrick gasps. “You’d never!”

“I should.”

“But you won’t.”

Sharpy rolls his eyes. “Go help Bur in the garage with the keg. He can’t get it open and he’s about to cut his fucking finger off.”

“Will do. Where’s Jonny?”

Sharpy snorts, shaking his head. It’s more exaggerated than Patrick thinks the question warrants, but then Sharpy lives to give him shit.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sharpy huffs. “Just surprised that wasn’t the first thing out of your mouth the second you walked through the door.”

Patrick’s not really sure what the hell that’s supposed to mean, but he’s not in the mood to go back and forth with Sharpy about this right now. Again. So he rolls his eyes and waves him off. He’ll just search for Jonny himself. He’s bound to already be here, the punctual freak.

“He’s upstairs with Marissa. Fighting,” Sharpy says as Patrick steps out of the room.

At the foot of the stairs he can vaguely hear some raised voices. He wants to walk up there and see Jonny anyway. Instead he takes a deliberate right and heads in the direction of the garage.

*

Patrick met Marissa the same day he met Jonny. The two of them were in the same freshman orientation group, him and Marissa, and they bonded over both being from upstate New York, their hate for the Bruins, and the tall, hot guy working at the union coffee shop. He was surprisingly goofy up close, quick to make a dumb joke and even quicker to blush when both Patrick and Marissa hit on him in tandem. Neither of them managed to get his number that day and Patrick wondered, at the time, if it was because they were too subtle or he was too oblivious. Turns out he had a girlfriend named Shannon, and he was also Patrick’s teammate, so it probably worked out for the best.

Jonny’s a year above him, a junior, but it’s like he’s been around for years the way he handles the team and incoming new players. He took Patrick under his wing the first week he arrived, showing him around, making sure he knew how to get to his classes, to the rink, anywhere he needed to go. They bickered and laughed constantly, and even when they didn’t get along they kept falling back together more than they fell apart. It was easy to become inseparable after that. Easy because Jonny’s friendly, and talkative, and he moves around like every inch of the world is his for the taking.

He’s like that with people too. 

Patrick’s watched Jonny go through three girlfriends after he and Shannon split that following Christmas. There was Marie: the bio lab partner, then six months later Amber: the coffeeshop meet-cute, and then a few months after Skylar: the hockey groupie. Patrick’s been there for every one of them, even the moments in between when Jonny was blessedly single and unattached, brief as they were. So he was pretty hyped up for some serious bro time before Marissa swooped back in around last halloween.

It’s not a big deal, honestly. Some people like Jonny are just built to be serial-monogamists. It’s in their DNA or something. Patrick chose to use his time learning the art of seduction. If you ask him it was time well spent, and you should _always_ ask him.

*

The party’s in full swing by the time Jonny and Marissa emerge from upstairs to join everyone else. Patrick’s not sure what he expects, for them to be joined hand-in-hand and all made up, or stiff and overly pleasant, as they try to pretend everything is fine. He doesn’t expect for Marissa to storm out or Jonny to shove up into his space and mumble, “I need to get wasted. Now.”

He looks drained, overly stressed, and a little frustrated, but he doesn’t seem particularly sad, and that makes something weird claw at Patrick’s insides.

“Can do. I even have something special saved for such an occasion. C’mon,” Patrick says.

He leads Jonny past clusters of people through the house, back up the stairs, to Sharpy’s room. It’s locked, as it always is during parties, since Sharpy doesn’t want anyone fucking on his bed. Patrick knows the combo to the padlock, however, because Sharpy’s a loose lipped drunk and Patrick’s a ninja.

Inside it’s cozy, with a full sized bed, a flat screen, a couch, and mini fridge with the expensive alcohol Sharpy keeps for himself and Abby. That’s not what Patrick’s interested in at the moment. He gets on his knees and rifles around under Sharpy’s bed for a minute until he comes back with a box full of sex toys. Patrick’s not interested in those either, even if he is a bit impressed by Sharpy’s lube collection. No, what he’s really after is the small tin Sharpy's shoved underneath the silicon toys and fuzzy handcuffs, in the hopes of keeping unwanted grubby hands off his drugs. Too bad Patrick has no shame. He pops open the tin and gets to work pulling out the contents and finding a flat surface to roll his joint.

“Sharpy’s gonna kill you for mooching,” Jonny says. He’s got his mouth quirked up in the corner in a crooked smile and he looks unfairly hot spread out on the couch, even if his eyes seem dark, tired.

Patrick licks his lips. “No, he won’t. Sharpy loves me. I’m his favorite.”

Jonny’s smile fades. “Yeah. Hey, Kaner?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think I’m a selfish prick?”

Patrick glances up just enough to see the hang-dog expression marring Jonny’s chiseled face, he also notices the way Jonny’s arms are stretched out over the back the couch, his thick thighs open just enough Patrick could slip between them and do horrible, delicious things if he wanted.

He coughs and looks away. “Is that what Marissa said? Dude, don’t listen to that shit. You know she was just pissed. I’m sure you can apologize tomorrow, make up, everything will be copacetic.”

“I don’t want to make up though.”

The room tilts a little at that confession, and Patrick has to roll his shoulders to rid himself of the fluttery feeling swirling in his gut. “Uh, what do you want?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Jonny says. “But not that.”

Patrick licks over the edges of the paper, getting it just wet enough so he can finish twisting the ends of the joint up. Ahh perfection, just the way he likes it. Jonny’s watching him when he glances up again and Patrick grins in hopes of drawing Jonny back to the present.

“Let’s get lit. It’ll cheer you up.”

He plops down on the couch, arm and thigh pressed against Jonny’s own as he holds his hand out in offer.

“I just don’t want to think for a while,” Jonny murmurs, taking the joint and bringing it to his lips for a long pull.

“Well,” Patrick says with a leer, “we can do that too.”

*

They’re still in Sharpy’s room an hour later, considerably more buzzed and considerably less sober, draped over each other on the couch as they pass Abby’s bottle of pink lemonade vodka back and forth. Patrick’s fizzy and warm all over, feeling sweetly chill and wondering why no one’s come to look for them. He’s not complaining, it’s been awhile since he’s had quality alone time with just Jonny and he’s not about to ruin it with questions of where their teammates are located. In fact he’s too busy watching Jonny’s sweaty throat work as he laughs at Patrick’s tale to be concerned with literally anything else. Taking a swish of vodka he continues to recount the time last spring when Sharpy was being a huge bitch about - who even knows what - and Patrick got so pissed at him for being a drama queen he told him Seabs had better hair. Patrick almost lost his life that night, but it was worth for the look of horror that crossed Sharpy’s face and for the way Jonny’s nose is scrunching up in amusement now, his mouth wide with a bright smile. 

Patrick has to actively force himself not to stare or he won’t stop.

Instead he gets caught up in watching the flicker of the green shamrock string lights Sharpy has pinned around his bedroom window. If he lets his eyes go out of focus they almost remind him of a traffic light flashing go, go, go. Maybe he should go. Maybe he should just say what he wants. Waiting has never done him any favors before.

Patrick blinks, clears his throat. “So now that you’re single what do you think about this?” he asks, gesturing between them.

Jonny tilts his head up from where it was half resting on Patrick’s shoulder and the back of the couch.

“About what?”

“Us. Tonight. No strings attached.”

Jonny’s brow furrows. “For...what?”

Patrick groans. “Look, let's not beat around the bush,” he says, meeting Jonny’s confused eyes with his own.

“What bush?”

“The metaphorical bush of this conversation.”

“Wouldn't that be figurative?” Jonny muses, laughing.

Patrick’s not sure what Jonny finds so amusing right now. He’s deadly serious. “I don't know! Just listen. Are you listening?!”

Jonny tries to force his expression into some facsimile of seriousness. It’s not working at all by the way the corners of his lips keep twitching. “I'm listening.”

Patrick pins him with a stare, forces himself not to turn away. “I want to sit on your dick. It’ll be fun.”

Jonny coughs. “Um, what?”

“You heard me.”

Jonny’s entire face abruptly flushes a pretty pink. “I'm-I'm not really into dudes.”

Patrick watches him try and fail not to fidget for a moment, sitting up straight, running a hand over the back of his neck, straightening his jeans over his thighs. It’s cute how flustered he is just by the implication.

“Have you ever been with one?”

“No.”

Patrick knocks his knee against Jonny’s, easy. “Then how would you know if you've never tried?”

“I…,” Jonny opens his mouth and closes it, once, twice. Nothing else comes out.

“Exactly,” Patrick says, soft. “Just give it a chance. Give me a chance.”

“I think I'd know where I want my dick to go, Kaner.” Jonny replies, but he sounds unsure enough Patrick takes the opportunity to swing himself around to straddle Jonny’s lap.

He smooths his palms over Jonny’s pecs, leaning just enough in so he can hover his mouth over Jonny’s ear and whisper. “I think you do too. And you want it inside me.”

This would be the time to do it, if Jonny wanted to throw Patrick off and reassert his heterosexual dominance, say hell no. This would be that moment, if he really wasn’t at all interested in what Patrick is offering. The fact that he doesn’t move, that Patrick can see him swallow thickly, the blotches on his cheeks reddening as he murmurs out an almost indistinct _fuck_ , tells Patrick everything he needs to know. He’s not in this alone.

“Yes. Let's,” Patrick says.

Jonny’s eyes close. “I don't know.”

“Why not? You saving yourself for someone else? Are you virgin, buddy?”

“Fuck off,” Jonny says, grouchy. And that’s the reaction Patrick was hoping for, to get Jonny out of his head and back in the moment. “You know I'm not. I just…”

“Yeah?”

“I don't know what to do.”

“Then let me in the driver's seat,” Patrick says, his grin turning filthy as he licks out over his top lip. “I'll give you the ride of your life.”

Jonny snorts. “Good god, you're lame.”

“Whatever, you know I'm hilarious,” Patrick shoots back, settling closer into Jonny’s lap, letting their bodies really touch. It feels nice already, just like this, to be this close. Patrick could sink into it and drift away.

“Are you sure about this?” Jonny asks. His arms are still limp at his sides, like he’s not sure what he wants to do with them, or maybe what he’s allowed to do.

Patrick laughs at that thought and the question. “Am I sure? Jonathan, I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

“Oh,” Jonny breathes. It’s as if he’s almost startled by the statement. "Okay."

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re gonna let me have you?” Patrick trails the fingertips of his right hand up over Jonny’s collarbone to the nape of his neck and into his hair, rubbing lightly over his scalp.

Jonny shivers. “But I thought I was the one that…”

“Baby, you’ll be inside me, but let’s make something very clear, tonight you’re mine. Alright?” Patrick hums, grinding down over Jonny’s lap. He can feel the heat there, the bulge where Jonny’s cock is sitting underneath these pesky clothes.

He wants to reach down inside those jeans and fish it out, hold it in his hand until it gets hard enough to fuck him, but he waits, as patiently as he can, for Jonny’s confirmation. When it comes in the form of a deliberate nod, Patrick feels that yes zip through him like a burning rush, sizzling everywhere. He’s not one to usually run hot, but he’s already a little heated from the alcohol and the promise of what’s to unfold, so taking his shirt off and tugging at Jonny’s is a welcome distraction. Well, for as long as it takes for Patrick to see all of that naked, toned skin in front of him.

Jonny’s body is unfairly fucking perfect, in almost every way, and Patrick’s going to work it like the finely tuned instrument it so clearly is.

“So do I--” 

“Hold that thought.” Patrick interrupts him, hopping off of Jonny’s lap in search of supplies. He’s probably coming off over eager as hell, but fuck it. He wants this. Now.

He grabs Sharpy’s box of toys again and rifles around for a condom and a tube of lube that won’t smell like fake cherries in his ass, undoing his pants on the way back to Jonny. He hasn’t moved a muscle from the moment Patrick’s left him, his appearance a little dazed, his skin still rosy. Patrick plops the goods on the couch and leans down between Jonny’s legs to unbutton his pants as Jonny watches Patrick watching him, eyelids heavy and mouth parted. There’s some part of Patrick still waiting for Jonny to stop this, to say no and not even give him a chance. He keeps half forming arguments in his head, things he can say to convince Jonny this is a good idea, the best idea; that this will be the fuck of the century. Patrick knows he can make it so good for him, make it so his eyes roll back in his goddamn head. If tonight is the magic carpet ride, then Patrick is Aladdin and he can show Jonny the world.

As long as Jonny wants this too.

He flips the snap on Jonny’s pants fast like ripping off a bandaid, but he’s slower with the zipper, pulling it down as if he’s unthreading a ribbon from a pristinly wrapped present, opening it with care. He waits for Jonny to stop him. He waits as he guides Jonny to lift his hips off the couch so he can get his hands on Jonny's pants and boxer briefs. He waits as he pulls the fabric down, over Jonny’s ass and then over his dick and balls, down to his thighs near the top of his knees. He waits but the request never comes. Instead Patrick’s presented with Jonny’s half hard dick, fat and thick, and every inch as perfect as the rest of him. As if there could be any doubt.

“Hey there, big boy,” Patrick whistles, unable to take his eyes off the girth of Jonny, the sheer length of him.

“Yeah?” Jonny asks, almost bashful, the asshole.

“Oh yeah,” Patrick says, mouth going wet. “I’m gonna have to take it a little slow with this monster, but you know me, I love a challenge.”

He stands to finish kicking off the rest of his own clothes, settling back on Jonny’s lap so he can finally, _finally_ take that gorgeous dick in his grasp.

“Are you,” Jonny shivers. “Are you always this talkative during sex?”

“Maybe,” Patrick says, thumbing over Jonny’s newly leaking slit. “Why?” 

“I was thinking about how I could get you to shut up.” He’s eyeing something in the toy box, probably one of Sharpy’s silk ties if Patrick had to take a guess. 

Patrick laughs. “Oooh kinky, Tazer. I like it when you talk dirty to me.”

“Oh my god,” Jonny groans. It’s not in the sexy way, but Patrick’s going to change that promptly.

He reaches over the couch, grabbing at the lube and condom he dropped there a minute ago and bringing it closer for ease of use. He pops the cap on the lube, and squirts some into his right hand, coating his fingers thoroughly.

“Is that from Sharpy’s stash?” Jonny asks, frowning.

“Mhmm.”

“Gross.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Jon,” Patrick says, then lifts off of Jonny’s lap just enough so he can fit his hand underneath his ass to get his fingers at his hole.

Jonny watches him raptly, eyes skimming over every part of him like they’re trying to take him in all at once. Patrick can feel goosebumps prickle over his skin beneath Jonny’s gaze. It’s already addictive and they’ve barely moved yet.

“Can I? Should I--touch you?” Jonny asks, sounding uncertain.

“All you want, gorgeous,” Patrick says on the end of a moan. He’s got one finger two knuckles deep inside himself and pushing another one in, but it’s an odd angle. It’d be better if he didn’t have to do it alone.

“You wanna finger me? Here, you can do two at once,” he adds, slipping his own hand free to take Jonny’s and guide it where he wants him to be. His fingers are longer than Patrick’s, warmer, and more calloused. When they’re fitted inside him Patrick uses the leverage of having both of his arms free to rock down on them in the most wicked way.

“Fuck,” Jonny says, an echo of Patrick’s own thoughts. “You’re tight.”

“I’ll be even tighter when I’m on your dick,” he says, clenching his ass around Jonny’s fingers in a delicate display.

Jonny grabs at the base of said dick with his free hand, jaw working. “Shut up or we won’t make it that far.”

“You already worked up?” Patrick leans in, flicking his thumbs over Jonny’s nipples and across his abs. “Have I got you close, baby?”

“Kaner, I swear to god,” he grits out.

“I do, don’t I?” Patrick says, low, as he continues to rock his hips. “Mmm, you’re so good for me already. I can’t wait for more.”

“Are you ready?” Jonny asks. He doesn’t sound as impatient as he did a moment go, more concerned than pushy, if anything. It makes Patrick greedy for him, all of him, now.

“Give me two more fingers for a bit and then I will be,” he says.

“Four fingers? You sure?”

“I can take it, trust me,” Patrick says, biting at his bottom lip when Jonny’s pinky pops in. It’s a stretch, to be sure, but it’s needed if he wants to fit Jonny inside him without too much pain.

Jonny starts to pump them in and out of his own volition after a second, nothing rough, just a gentle slide that has Patrick grasping at Jonny’s shoulders and digging in hungrily. It doesn’t take long before he can feel his body start to relax, loosening up and opening for Jonny. Jonny and no one else. His heart hammers crazily at the thought. He grabs at the condom to distract himself from that thought, to shake it off, fitting the condom over Jonny carefully so it doesn’t rip, and slicking him up so he’s dripping from root to tip, all down his balls.

“You need me to…” Jonny gestures at his dick. Patrick shakes his head, holding it up himself so he can sink down on it.

“I’ve got this. You sit back and relax. Enjoy the show,” he winks, and then promptly gasps as the thick, blunt head of Jonny’s cock slips inside him.

It's more than he was expecting and yet it’s still, somehow, someway, not enough. As overwhelming as it feels to be split in two this way, Patrick would never give it up. Not Jonny’s hands now coming to rest on his hips, or Jonny’s fingers pulling at his ass cheeks, as he slips inch after inch inside. It’s a lot, more than he bargained for and he has to grip at Jonny’s arms, his shoulders, his neck, to keep himself from floating away. He could live and die for this feeling, this being so full of someone, having control of them, the way it strikes every nerve ending inside of his body and makes it fly. It’s intoxicating and stunning, and so very very sublime.

He doesn’t even realize he’s moaning _more, more, more_ , until he comes back to himself after a minute, slowing the roll of his hips so he can grind down indulgently, hearing the hiss Jonny let’s out.

“What do you want?” Jonny asks as he begins pumping his hips up. He’s got need written all over every straining muscle in his body, in the glassy look in his eyes to the desperate clawing of his hands up and down Patrick’s back. He’s starved for it, for what Patrick’s doing to him; thirsty for it.

“Faster,” Patrick pants, stretched to breaking. “Harder. Don’t stop.”

He’s trying to focus, keep his eyes on the prize and make Jonny beg for him, have him fall apart, but it’s difficult with the way Jonny’s dick is hitting his prostate with even the smallest of thrusts, milking him from the inside and causing him to go hazy. His own dick is so hard it’s bright red and aching, a long stream of precome dripping onto Jonny’s abs. He can’t touch himself. If he touches himself this will be over and...he can’t. Not yet.

“What do you want?” Jonny asks again, voice husky and sexy rough.

“I want you,” Patrick says without thinking. When Jonny’s eyes widen he leans in and bites gently on his neck. “I mean I want you like this, underneath me. I want you to suck my dick, and eat my ass, and fuck me for hours just like this. Exactly like this, oh god.”

Jonny presses his face to Patrick’s chest, flicks his tongue over Patrick’s left nipple, then his right before sucking on it hotly. Patrick practically vibrates out of his skin it hits him so good. Jonny’s biting kisses all over as he fucks up into Patrick with a vigorous rhythm. It’s exquisite in it’s ferventness. It’s the best fuck he's ever had, hands down.

“Can I kiss you?” Jonny asks, breathless.

“Please,” Patrick says, and doesn’t wait before he crushes his lips to Jonny’s.

If he thought it was all good before, having Jonny’s mouth on his feels like some kind of nirvana. Patrick gets utterly, irretrievably lost in it; in the slick wetness of Jonny’s lips, the sharp rasp of his teeth, the way his tongue feels so alive sliding against Patrick’s own. He’s being devoured by this kiss, by every little breath of it. He’d never breathe again if he could keep it going forever. When they break apart Patrick can’t help but stare at Jonny, gaze locked on those dark eyes and that sweaty brow, the uneven growth of his facial hair, and the beautiful scar on his bruised lips.

His beautiful lips.

His beautiful face.

He’s so...beautiful.

And maybe Jonny's sucked all the air out of his lungs, because suddenly Patrick can’t fucking breathe.

“Does this mean I’m your favorite?” he asks, drawing Patrick in close to kiss him again.

“ _Jonny_ ,” Patrick says, unraveling quick from the pump of Jonny’s hips and the heat in his eyes.

“Am I?” He asks, and he looks so cracked open right then Patrick can’t help the way he shudders and writhes.

“Yes.” He says and comes, just like that, with Jonny pressing their mouths together frantically.

When he clenches around Jonny he can hear the choked off whine between Jonny’s lips, feel the way he jerks and shakes beneath Patrick as he empties himself inside the condom. Suddenly Patrick hates condoms and everything they stand for, which are primarily keeping Jonny’s come from leaking out of his fucked out hole. What a cruel world. He presses his face to Jonny’s neck and tries to stop his shaking.

A large hand comes up and traces shapes over his back for long enough Patrick loses time for a while. 

Eventually Jonny says, “You okay?”

Patrick hasn’t moved an inch from Jonny’s neck and he’s thinking, everything considered, he might never move again. “I’m dead. You killed me.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Jonny laughs, softly. “I’ve got some moves.”

“Do you ever,” Patrick murmurs.

“Hey, so...can I see you? Again?”

“You’re seeing me right now,” Patrick says, even though that’s technically not true what with him hiding against the curve of Jonny’s body.

He decides to slowly edge back, his legs a little sore from being folded in half for too long. Jonny’s still inside him and he doesn’t want to let that go yet, so he stays close, even if he ducks his head a bit. It’s stupid that he’s shy now, after everything, but the way Jonny’s looking at him is maybe more intense than the sex, if that's possible.

“You know what I mean.”

“Jon, you just got out of a thing with Marissa.”

“Yeah, because she was always on my case about how much time I spent with the team. With you. And I thought she was wrong. I didn’t get it. But I think now maybe I do.”

At this Patrick raises his gaze, meets Jonny’s eyes. “What do you get?”

Jonny frowns, adorably. “Don’t act like it’s just me. I was with you there two minutes ago. You’re in this too.”

Patrick bites at the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing. But I don’t wanna be your rebound either,” he says. It’s truer the longer he thinks about it. He needs it to be all or nothing.

“You’re not,” Jonny says, serious as ever. “I wouldn’t do that.”

He cups Patrick’s face in his hands, kisses him tenderly twice.

“Promise?” Patrick asks, looping his hands around Jonny’s wrists.

There’s a quiet pause where Jonny runs his thumb gently underneath Patrick’s left eye.

“Patrick, you were always my favorite too,” he admits.

In favor of letting his eyes go misty Patrick plasters a smirk across his face and rocks down against Jonny. “That’s right, baby. Number one!”

“So. Fucking. Lame,” Jonny groans, but it’s partially from the way Patrick’s clenching down around him, ready for round two.

“But yours,” Patrick says.

And Jonny smiles. “Absolutely.”


End file.
